Tears of Isis
by Lelila Solo
Summary: Vampire hunter Emma Swan finds herself in Storybrooke, Maine investigating three suspicious deaths - and falling in love. But secrets tear love apart and Emma finds herself torn between her heart and her destiny.
1. Prologue

_My name is Emma Swan._

_I come from a legendary line of hunters. Not that I knew them. Centuries ago, a ruthless and bloodthirsty queen ruled my homeland. Her legion of vampires terrorized the land; thousands were slaughtered with a wave of her hand. That was when my kind returned. My parents pursued the queen and her legion, along with their pack of werewolf friends. I remained hidden, unknown, for my own safety. The blood feud between the queen and my family was never to reach me. _

_Slowly, the land was reclaimed by my mother – the true queen. The fairy tale of Snow White and her Prince Charming is far from accurate. My mother did not sing to bluebirds or live in a whimsical cottage. She slept in trees and sunk silver arrows into the hard hearts of vicious demons. She drank an Elixir of Wild Rose daily to keep poison from an unfortunate bite at bay, so that one day she could return to me. I do not remember her face; but her hair was black and her lips were blood red with stain from that elixir. It was my mother who let fly the fateful arrow meant for the heart of the cornered Evil Queen, famed in your versions of the fairy tale. But she, the queen, vanished; the arrow sinking into a white ash instead. A heart breaking curse tore through my land, cast by the Evil Queen witch._

_I never laid eyes on the woman that determined the course of my life. My caretakers shoved me in a wardrobe to shield me from the curse. I was six. I do not remember my family, or those who cared for me. I was too young. All I remember are the trees. I woke in your world, alone. Your world is a dark, unfriendly place. You think it devoid of magic, but it is steeped in evil. By my sixteenth name day, I had learned the cruelties of your world well. I know it as well as I had known my own. And my destiny was clear. Your world needed a hunter – my mark appeared sometime in that year. My foster family thought I had illegally gotten a tattoo, for that is how it appears. It took me many years to understand what it meant, what it was. Sometimes I still am not sure. The only thing I know for sure is that it means I am your Savior._

_The vampires have returned to plague my new life, perhaps they were never gone. For the past twelve years my purpose has been to keep your people safe. The other Hunters are long since gone. I am alone. I have searched your world several times over searching for the manifestations of my destiny. I have learned much, and will continue in my search. I have heard many stories of my world; for yours thrives on romantic fairy tales. But they are wrong. So very wrong. Fairy tales are not always what they seem. Keeping my secret is hard, but essential. There are new breeds of vampires cropping up all the time. You never know who is going to flash you the grin of death next._

_My cover job, bounty hunting for the United States government, has taken me away from my investigation in Seattle. Not that I am concerned, that species tends to be taking care of itself. But they know my calling card. I am on my way to the northern edge of Maine in search of a fugitive. But my mission does not waiver._

_My name is Emma Swan. And I am a vampire hunter._


	2. Chapter 1: The Mark of the Hunter

A/N: _I have never been interested in writing anything supernatural before, I do not delve into the realms of vampires and werewolves. Rarely do they interest me. But kiszaa's gifsets on Tumblr grabbed my attention and I knew that this was something that I had to do. I am getting ready to take the second of four finals that span from today to next Tuesday and afterwards I am free of school obligations until the end of January. Hopefully the chapters maintain a steady update pace, but I can't make promises. I hope you all enjoyed the prologue as the feedback seemed to suggest. I certainly enjoyed writing this chapter._

_Much thanks to Sheryl, kiszaa, Bekah, Porsha, and Janelle for their support and plotting help. And without further ado. _

* * *

The Mark of the Hunter

* * *

It was one of those days that made her wish she'd worn long sleeves underneath her leather jacket instead of the standard tank top. Usually impervious, her red suit of armor was letting cold seep in to settle like a sheet of ice on her skin. It was only October in Boston, but the overcast skies and the wind from the bay served to keep the air thin and cold. Shoving her hands deep into her jeans pockets, she hoped to keep the cold from reaching her any further. No one else seemed to notice though; as people weaved in and out of the heavy foot traffic she wondered how many of them had grown up here, with skin thicker than Phoenix sun called for. It was much easier to spot the tourists, wrapped in scarves, chattering incessantly and snapping pictures of buildings far too old to remember their own history. Most of them had been gutted and renovated. Even the outsides had subtle changes only the true revolutionaries could pinpoint. She, personally, didn't care that much.

Into one of these buildings she turned, jogging up concrete steps that badly needed a power wash. It didn't matter; no one ever came here to visit. Heat smacked her in the face once she stepped through the glass door reading 'T.C. and G.M. Private Investigators.' Underneath, in smaller print, read 'Capital Economy Bounty Hunters for Hire – 3rd Floor.' That's where she was headed. Grateful that her building had working heat, she tugged the beanie from her head. Blonde curls fell forward in a cascade and she shook her head to settle them into place around her shoulders. It hadn't been a ponytail kind of day.

Her booted foot tapped impatiently as she waited for the decrepit elevator to slowly creak its way down to the ground floor. After her last hunt had ended in the mountains just north of Seattle, she'd hung around the western state to investigate some rumors. Strange activity seemed to be happening out in the forests. _Vampires_. Her true prey. This breed was what she called 'Pretty Boy' vampires. She'd only run into them once before, during an excursion in Italy. Deceptively beautiful, they hid in the shadows not because the sunlight burned their frozen skin, but because they sparkled. They were so damn good looking she'd forgotten what she was doing a couple times. But then she remembered the sparkles. _What self-respecting vampire coven sparkled? _Thinking back to it, she still chuckled. But her office had called her back for another hunt before she'd been able to clear them out. Begrudgingly, she'd left them to take care of themselves. Seemingly, a war with the neighboring werewolf tribe was about the break out. She'd go back to clean up the scraps later.

A solid minute after the signal dinged, the door finally slid open to grant her access to the third floor. She strolled past clerks in pantsuits and other hunters milling about in jeans and hoodies. They, at least, had no dress code. She'd received word that her boss had been replaced with none other than her old juvie warden. Some people might find it strange, but she was oddly relieved at the news. A little knock on the door and she peeked inside the office, the smile on his face delightful. "Emma Swan."

She let her own smile reach her eyes, green today, "The one and only."

He stood to give her a hug, "Never thought I'd see you on this side of the law."

She had the decency to look offended at his joke. "That was ten years ago. I appreciate the vote of confidence."

He winked at her.

"When did you get promoted?"

"Couple weeks ago," he said. "I got tired of dealing with high school drop outs. None of them could live up to your infamous legacy."

Emma rolled her eyes, "I was a great inmate."

"I know," he returned to his seat, beckoning her to do the same. "When you weren't causing a scene. Sit down, sit down."

She kicked back in one of the cushy visitor chairs. "So how do you like Boston?"

"Nothing like home. I miss that Arizona sun. But it's doable. How's the all-star bounty hunter?"

"Eh, I was always good at finding people," Emma shrugged. "Just a talent, I guess. Why? Do you have a challenge for me?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," he tossed a file to her.

Reading the cover page quickly, she let out a groan, "Maine? Why don't they ever run off to like Atlanta or New Orleans? I'm trying to stay away from the cold."

"You're the best of the best, Swan. Or so I'm told," he grinned at her again. He saw that gleam in her eyes. "If anyone can track a criminal down in the savage wilderness, it's you."

"Flattery gets you nowhere," she said, standing to leave.

"We'll catch up when you get back, huh? It's been a long time," he said.

"You aren't exactly making me want to go out for coffee or anything."

"Not my job, Swan. I'm just here to catch the bad guys."

"Aren't we all," she muttered as the door closed behind her. Her new perp had about a two weeks' head start on her. It was time to get moving.

"How you always get the good ones, Swan?" one of her co-workers called out.

She threw her hands up with a grin, "You gotta be good, Scotty. You'll get there one day."

Everyone laughed. Scott was one of the best, oldest bounty hunters working at Capital. He knew his way around.

"Just don't let me end up chasin' you down, kid. We'll see who's the best," he teased.

They all had some kind of record, hers was probably the cleanest one out of all of them, even though she'd done a heck of a lot more than that piece of paper said. She just knew how to not get caught, most of the time. Nodding to the clerks as she left, she checked the file again. This one had a payout of $50,000. She could hang her jacket on that for six months after dragging this catch in. A grin steeled her against the cold as she jammed the beanie back over her ears and stepped outside. Dodging traffic, she crossed the street and quickly made her way back to a barely lived in apartment to pack for her excursion to Maine.

* * *

She was born of the woods and though the white pines of Maine were no kin to those that had sheltered her birth, they welcomed her just the same. The supernatural had always made their home amongst the trees. The wilderness accepted them. Leaves directed the wind towards her sensitive ears. The perks of heightened senses were not lost on her. She could hear a whispered conversation from five miles away, if she was paying attention. Years of training had taught her how to systematize her desensitization; to sift through the sounds of nature in order to find an unwelcome presence. Complicated corneas that had driven optometrists to predict early blindness as a child propelled her vision into the night, like infra-red goggles that maintained unobtrusiveness. She ran with the deer without breaking a sweat, climbed trees faster than a squirrel on sure feet. Other predators of the forest sensed her strength and avoided clashes with her presence. They maintained an aloof mutual respect. _In order to catch a vampire_, she often mused,_ one almost had to become one_. Thankfully, she held no thirst for blood.

Assumptions ran deep in her mind that the other Hunters were the same, had been the same as she was. The Hunters must have been supernatural too. How else could their few track down and destroy the Queen's legion and the Queen herself? Her mother must have possessed the same unerring intuition and senses, her father the same brute strength. But she would never know; her past remained shrouded in mystery and unlike Hercules she had no stone god to pray to for answers. There were no legends of her people in history books. Vastly romanticized children's stories were all that connected her past and present. And she was no hero, only a soldier. Her assumptions remained just as they were. Her abilities allowed her to do her job efficiently and quietly. Those that were bold enough and stupid enough to run into the wilderness for protection automatically chose her to be their own personal General Zaroff.

It was the bull moose that gave away her quarry; his disgruntled calls alerting her to a presence that was uninvited in his world. Her ears turned to take in the sound, orienting her to the proper direction. A hand steadied her body against the grey bark of the pine as her boots shifted on the thick branch. A fall from this height would not break her, but it wouldn't help either. _Being one hundred feet off the ground had its disadvantages_, she thought as a gust of wind swept her hair off her shoulders. But it certainly gave her more to look at, more to see. The moose called again, and she quickly took to the forest floor to find him.

A stand-off in a clearing two miles southwest of her lookout greeted her arrival. The man had a rifle trained on the moose. She pulled out her handgun and boldly struck out across the field. The animal would trample him before she got there if she called out. Instead, she whistled, hoping the birds would carry her tune and keep the moose from killing her bounty. She wasn't keen on missing that paycheck.

"I'd back away slowly, if I were you," she said once she got close enough for the wind to carry her voice, and her scent. The moose directed a steely gaze at her, his nostrils flaring as he gathered the scent of a predator in his lungs. He didn't want to tangle with her. After an apparent bow of his hulking antlers, he trod off through the trees.

But the man missed the exchange, having turned his attention to the blonde in the bomber jacket. "You made me lose my lunch."

"Well, if you were back where you're supposed to be," she shot his hand before he could turn the rifle on her, "then you wouldn't be hungry."

His scream of agony sent the birds scattering.

She wrestled him to the ground and cuffed his hands behind him. A tight bandana staunched the blood flow. "Come on, the troopers are waiting for you."

"Who the hell are you lady?"

"Your worst nightmare," she laughed. "I've always wanted to say that. The name is Emma. And you, my friend, just bought me a six month vacation."

* * *

Maine was a place where it was easy to lose yourself, literally. Every tree looked the same; every road had the same curves. The last time she remembered having cell service, her notifications dinged to inform her of a deposit to her bank account. Once you got so far off the highway, GPS satellite tended to drop out. She checked the gas gauge again and sighed in frustration. She should have filled up in the town where she'd dropped her perp off. Bright yellow, her trusty Bug stood out starkly against the earthy tones she claimed to know. A passerby would notice her immediately if the car ran out of gas, but she hadn't seen another car in over an hour, and that had been back on the highway. This little side trip had gotten her unbelievably lost. Apparently, she did not know the back of her hand as well as she thought.

Ahead, a sign crept out from the tree line. Her eyes narrowed. "Storybrooke?"

A gut instinct had her pulling the car over as she approached.

"Town limit?" she didn't see any houses peeking out from behind the trees that indicated a town. It wasn't that she knew every crevice in Maine, but it was a frequent hunting ground and she'd made it a mission to know her territory. It made the hunting so much easier. A map was folded into the dashboard glove box and she extricated it carefully. A couple flips and some flattening of creases and she found Maine spread before her. A finger trailed the highway she'd been traveling down. But the stretch of road she'd turned off on was nowhere to be found. The map was a 2011 edition. Her eyes snapped back up to the sign. "Founded in 1985."

No Storybrooke.

Perhaps she was even more lost than she thought. She flipped to the back and found the index. The same finger trailed down the column of town names for her chosen state. Storybrooke didn't exist. With a grin she pulled back onto the road. "Now if this isn't suspicious activity worth investigating, I don't know what is. Maybe we have another Mystic Falls on our hands."

Subconsciously, she pulled the sleeves of her shirt down over her arms. Not that her mark had ever been acknowledged or recognized by a species before, but she was never too careful. Most, natural or supernatural, took the Egyptian armbands to be tattoos that she'd gotten in her misguided youth. Wings of Isis, a goddess of heaven, and the wings of Anubis, a god of the underworld, encircled her left arm just above and below the elbow. That was her mark. She'd watched it appear on her skin, like someone was trailing ink through her veins, when she was sixteen. The first signs of her _strange_ abilities had begun to show themselves soon after. Conceivably, no one ever would see her mark for what it was. She didn't understand its significance herself. Isis and Anubis were gods of this world, not hers, and she often wondered to the connections that could possibly arise between the two. Her trips to Egypt yielded no answers. Studies of Egyptology at local libraries had turned up nothing but contradicting lore. Sometimes she relinquished her search in frustration and faced the fact that she may never know with wavering acceptance.

After a long stretch of woods and her gas light flickering on, a quaint little town spread out before her suddenly. It seemed to be stuck about two decades in the past if the décor had anything to say about it. Salt in the air pushed past her car's shabby filtration system and assaulted her senses. _How did I get to the coast?_ As she rolled down Main Street, a gas station finally loomed into view. A spark of excitement that only desperation could conjure and she pulled in, began pumping. Leaning against the window she took the time to look around. The cars made her death trap on wheels look brand new. And the people – she didn't even remember some of the clothing choices existing. "Make that three decades in the past."

Once the tank was full, Emma drove off, unaware that her total was a resounding $14.63. The day that she'd had called for a beer, and what better place to sample the locals in a quiet town than a bar?

Down the street The Rabbit Hole flickered in green and white neon above a wooden door as the sun began to set. She stepped in as a short, gruff man smelling of ethanol and desperately needing a shave was herded out by a policeman who barely gave her a passing glance. "You know the drill, Leroy."

Shaking her head, she slid her way between patrons at the bar and had a beer shoved in her hands before she finished asking for it by the brunette bartender wearing practically nothing. No one seemed to notice her. So she found a table mostly devoid of sticky places and sat back to let the powers of observation move her. It wasn't as dark as she thought a bar should be. Everyone seemed to know their place and it wasn't until someone almost sat on her that anyone realized she was there at all. And they seemed completely startled by it. Upon her offer to move, they warded her off and relocated themselves.

"Well, that was weird," Emma muttered to herself. It was a preconception that quaint little towns were friendly.

"You'll have to excuse them, dear," a smooth voice dipped in poison responded. "We don't get many visitors here."

"Clearly," Emma looked up. A different brunette was looking down at her. The woman held herself regally, the surrounding clientele beneath her. Dark eyes seemed to smolder.

"Regina Mills," the woman addressed herself.

"Emma Swan," the blonde bounty hunter swept her arm over the table dramatically. "Please sit."

The invitation fell flat as Regina was already claiming space opposite her at the table. "You may be the first visitor we've had in a long while."

"Yeah," Emma nodded, turning back to the crowd. "This place is certainly out there."

"How ever did you find us?"

Emma eyed her new companion with suspicion. "Should I not have?"

"I'm merely inquiring. As I said, we don't get many tourists in Storybrooke."

"I was looking for gas, got a little lost, ran into you," a brilliant smile finished off her answer. "And you are so much more fun to look at than the gas station."

"Then you found Dino's?" Regina asked, not taking a moment to soak in the blonde's forwardness.

"Oh, yeah. And you know, I'm a bit of a wanderer, so I thought I'd stick around, see if I could find anything exciting," Emma smirked.

Regina shifted, cleared her throat, "Well, found something you have. I'm afraid you may find our town a bit drab for your, no doubt, expensive tastes."

"I'm full of surprises and I don't have anywhere to be," Emma let her eyes linger on the martini slipping between the woman's lips. "I like what I'm seeing so far."

Silence pulled Emma's eyes back to the crowd, all of whom seemed to have noticed the newcomer among them. Sideways glances that shifted when she met them took in the sight of her. And she them. But she didn't quite notice the eyes across the table drinking her in greedily, calculating.

Out of the side of her mouth, Emma asked, "What are you drinking?"

"Apple martini," Regina said, just as poised as ever. "Lacey makes the best."

"Lacey?"

"The bartender," Regina nodded to the woman hanging over the counter with a shaker. "But I make the best cider in town."

Emma leaned in, "Perhaps you'll have to give me a taste then?"

"I don't think you're earned that yet," Regina tossed back the rest of her drink, sliding the glass over the table to meet with Emma's empty beer bottle.

"Then I think I should be going to find a room for the night," Emma faked a convincing stretch. "Suggestions?"

"Try Granny's, down the street about three blocks, hang a left."

"Will do." Emma shrugged into her jacket.

"Ms. Swan?"

"Ms. Mills?"

"What _are_ you doing here?"

The question was so point blank that Emma knew it was tearing up the other woman to not have an answer. She stood and threw a couple bills down to cover her beer. "You're going to have to buy me a few drinks first."

"I'm the mayor, I don't buy drinks," Regina turned her head and Emma's jade eyes followed the way her hair swung perfectly forward. The woman was ravishing.

"I'll remember that, Ms. Mills."


	3. Chapter 2: In This Metallic Silence

A/N: _Apologies for the plethora of time it took for me to get this chapter posted. I was trying to not give you all a dumpy chapter of boredom._

_So you can all thank_ FairyTaleArchetype _for the fact that this is not that. And by thank her, I mean go read her fics after you're done with this chapter. I assure you that it is worth it. Her editing brought life to this bit of writing and for that I will be forever grateful._

_To those of you I did not reply to, I apologize - my time away from the internet hinders me a bit, but I do try to get back to everyone who reviews. I hope you enjoy where this goes, even if I do take time to post._

* * *

In This Metallic Silence

* * *

_The chill. _Sleep was suddenly tossed from her as consciousness roared to full force. Full alertness. Dreaming had not stirred her from sleep, but something had. Something tangible. It had hovered above her moments before the lids of her eyes fluttered open. She could smell its scent around her as clearly as she had smelled the musk of horses in her dream. _Curiosity_. _Uncertainty_. _Malice_. Keen eyes surveyed the room; but the presence was long withdrawn. The window of the antiquated hotel room stood open to her left, the chill dragging through light curtains. There was not but a drifting breeze hardly tugging at leafy trees to challenge the stillness of the night, certainly nothing strong enough to throw open the heavy glass on its rusty hinges. Something had been in her room as she slept.

Again the frustration of human needs perturbed her thoughts. She was like them enough, her prey, but not enough at the same time. Sleep hindered her hunt and with an angry jerk of her arm cast the sheets aside. It had gotten the first look. It was ahead in this blind chess game. She padded to the sill. A straight drop, three floors down to the hardening earth below. Her mutated eyes saw no hint of disturbance, but they were unable to pick out any minute detail. She would have to check the ground in the morning for imprints. Jumping out of a high window wearing naught but pajamas in a strange town where she could easily be seen was not her idea of a good start. Secrecy was at the heart of the life of a hunter. And she would be loath to hike downstairs to go snooping around outside. Closing the window, she slid a chair under the handle to alert her to the sound of any other new arrivals. Standing in the middle of the room after a few steps, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply through her nose. A hundred scents assaulted her brain and as she sifted through them, a smile grew on her face. A hungry smile, baring her teeth, curling her lips. The most outstanding scent was that of her prey and she committed it to memory. When she opened her eyes again they were alight with predatory fire, liquid gold swirling through rings of brilliant green. _Vampire_.

Satisfied that her detour to an unknown town was proving to be fruitful, she climbed back into bed and struggled to return to her dream, falling backwards into her earliest memory. It was cold and unwavering in its facts. As she had aged the narrative had changed, had grown in explanation the way that learning allowed for – taking her from the mind of a young child to that of one well-schooled – but she still saw everything through eyes that had yet to discover what it was like to see the things that went bump in the night.

* * *

_There is a creak of a door shuddering open before it's supposed to. It slinks through the air, grating against walls and carpets, slipping through cracks and spaces to wake me. Sleep clings to my eyes and I rub them with a small fist, the thumb of which is chapped from sucking. Another creak has my direct attention. The door is closed. The only one that creaks is the front. Gram made it that way to alert her if someone stupidly tries to break in. Her words. But I know she doesn't need a creaking door to sound the alarm. I know what she is, or was. They try to keep secrets from me, but I am almost five and I know more than they think. Just as I know that the front door should not have opened before the dawn's light burned through the cracks in my shutters to say good morning. The air is thick. Something is wrong._

_Snow had just fallen the evening before, coating the underbrush in a thick blanket. Pressing my ear to the bedroom door, I can hear the crunch of it beneath someone's boots before it has time to melt away in the heat from the hearth. Surely there are little puddles on the floor now where it has been tracked in and you can map the newcomer's progress through the small cottage. Whispering voices do not quite reach me. With the clarity only a child can call upon, I know this person is a stranger and yet not an enemy. The sharp twang of Gram's crossbow has not perked my ears though this house is unwelcome to strangers. Perhaps they are merely a stranger to me. With naivety granted only to children, I push open my bedroom door and tumble out into the floor. Silence greets my fall, but candles are lit in the kitchen. My eyes first see Gram's worn leather boots and floral frock. I do not need to look up into her face, she is familiar. Instead my eyes scurry over to the second pair of boots. The stranger is wearing dark leather boots over tan breeches. I can smell the musky grit of horses. A green cloak covers a tan tunic and leather jerkin, a leather sash slung over her shoulder revealing the glint of weapons as it keeps the cloak flush against her body. Black hair, peeking wildly out from under the hood, is dusted with melting snow. My searching eyes never reach those of the stranger for they land on lips red as the blood I watched Gram scrub from Red's arms a fortnight ago._

_The fear that had coiled in my stomach, like the black snake I found by the river when the sun was warm, suddenly struck as a wail of unearthly terror wrenched free from the back of my throat and Gram rushed forward, scooping me into her arms. "Emma, you will be quiet."_

_My obedience betrays my eyes, wide with shock and uncertainty._

"_It's only your mother."_

_An angry sigh escapes those blood red lips to which my eyes are transfixed. "This is what she has taken from me."_

"_The Evil Queen did not force you to give up your daughter. She didn't force you to hunt her down. You chose this righteous crusade yourself," Gram sounds upset and I bury my face in her neck. _

"_To make it safe for her!"_

"_You started this years before she was born, young one. Do not forget that."_

"_They – she is evil!"_

"_And this war will never end," Gram begins walking back down the hall to my room. "She has taken too much already." Her attention turns to me, whispering that I must be a good girl and wait for the sun to wake up and play. That the night is no place for wandering little girls._

"_You're right," says the stranger, my mother. I know her gaze is on me but I do not look at her. "My own daughter doesn't even recognize me."_

* * *

She could never see the faces, no matter how hard she tried to force her much younger eyes to look up. They were lost to her as a puff of smoke on the wind. But she knew the names; her Gram had told her to never forget them. Her mother was Snow White. Her father was Prince Charming. She must always remember that, even if she couldn't remember what they looked like. Even if years later she was to look into their eyes and never know who they were, she must always remember where she came from. The memories never connected names to faces. After 22 years, she was starting to wonder why she bothered trying anymore, why the names mattered. Her family was dead, killed by a wicked queen and a devastating curse. When they came for Gram she had been shoved into a wardrobe and locked away, hidden from those who would harm her. But she'd fallen asleep and woken in the woods by a strange road made of smooth black rock with painted lines. A blaring trumpet from a metal monster informed her that she was not in the Enchanted Forest anymore. Now she drove one of those metal monsters, blending in with Americans as if she belonged there.

A young brunette woman who wore far too little clothing for a Maine October, all in varying hues of red, had checked her into the bed and breakfast with an astonished shock. It wasn't until Emma recalled Regina's words – "we don't get many tourists in Storybrooke" – that she'd realized why. But the twinkle in the woman's eye and the way she'd winked at her made Emma feel as if she knew her. And the way they'd regarded one another had need stirring in Emma's veins. The woman, Ruby, had clearly never been beyond the limits of the sleepy town (if her wardrobe had anything to say about it). As Emma was not stranger to one night stands with unknown faces, she had considered asking Ruby to join her upstairs. After the encounter with Regina, boldness was flourishing next to desire. But an undistinguishable call from a back room had the woman apologetically excusing herself and Emma had been left to find her room on her own. Once settled, her heady thoughts had flown back to Regina and the cup of cider she'd missed out on. There they had stayed as she lay beneath sheets that had probably seen more of moths than human skin. Her eyes had drifted shut to images of the beautiful mayor of a mysterious town who asked questions like someone who had a secret to keep.

However, in the cold light of day, her attention turned to the midnight visitor while Regina clung like a whisper to the back of her mind. With conflicted determination, and a mental note to check the ground beneath her window, she heavily plodded down the wooden steps into the diner on the back of the inn. Or was it the front? The building spanned the width of the block.

She quickly realized that the diner was where the business lay. The inn was covered in a layer of dust as old as she was, but the retro-fitted diner was polished and smelled of fresh coffee. It was abuzz with patrons grabbing their morning caffeine or sitting down to breakfast with a friend. The gruff little man she'd watched be led from the bar by the policeman was now sitting at the counter nursing a cup. A cup of what, she couldn't be sure. The brunette who'd checked her in the previous night was taking orders, wearing shorts that left little to Emma's vivid imagination. A young woman with short, cropped, black hair sat reading a novel Emma couldn't decipher the title of while her coffee, rich with cream and sugar, went cold on the table before her. Emma slid into an unoccupied booth and waited for Ruby by scouring a faded menu.

"Emma, right?" Ruby finally sauntered over to her, giving the blonde a leering once over. "How was your room?"

"Great," Emma smiled, "if a little lonely."

There was that wink again.

"What do you recommend?" Emma listened to Ruby rattle off specials that she assumed came out of thin air before agreeing to French Toast and enjoyed the view as Ruby walked away. She was halfway through a cup of coffee when a voice caused her to freeze, eyes widening.

"No, you may not have off tonight, and you know that."

Emma turned, barely catching a glimpse of grey hair disappearing into the kitchen. It couldn't be. Her mind was playing tricks on her in the aftermath of the dream. It had been so long since she'd had it.

Ruby had sulked over with her order, "I should have left for Boston when I had the chance."

Clearing her head with a shake, Emma motioned for Ruby to sit. "Why didn't you?"

"My Granny had a heart attack," Ruby leaned on her elbows, her cleavage distracting Emma's gaze. "I had to stay here and help her. Now I can't get out."

"You could just leave," Emma suggested. Ruby scoffed. "Or not."

Ruby changed the subject, "How do you like it here? Storybrooke doesn't–"

"Get many visitors, I know," Emma laughed, shoving a forkful into her mouth. "I really haven't seen that much of the place." She swallowed. "What do you know about the mayor?"

"Regina? Well, she's kind of hard to get to know. Rules with an iron fist," Ruby sat back in the booth. "She always manages to get her way, but she's fair. Nothing bad ever happens around here, so we can't complain. She's kind of intimidating, personally, no one has ever run against her and she's been mayor for as long as I can remember."

"Ruby!"

"Coming," the brunette let out an exasperated sigh. "Enjoy the food."

Emma nodded, but kept her eyes strained on the kitchen door the entire time she ate, barely tasting her food. She didn't hear the voice again. There was no way she'd heard it right, she rationalized. Her Gram was long dead, another grievance Emma could add to the list she harbored against the queen that ruined her life. And if Gram wasn't among the deceased, she would be well into her nineties and incapable of running a bustling diner, wolf or no wolf. _Plus she lived in a different world_. Clearly, the dream had gone to her head. _Longings of the past are unbecoming_, Emma scolded herself, _and distracting_.

Throwing some bills on the counter to cover her tab, she headed out the door. It was high time she got a feel for the little town and where secrets may lurk within. After assuring herself that there really was no mark on the ground below her window where someone may have fallen, she roamed. Her wanderings took her down side streets into the residential areas. The houses were of all shapes and sizes, seemingly distributed at will across different blocks. A knight could live next to a peasant here, she mused happily. There was something about this place that seemed so familiar, but she couldn't put her finger on it. She'd been in many towns across this world, but none had this effect on her. Like she was home. And Emma Swan was never home.

A huge mansion that would have been better suited on Main Street as the City Hall loomed above her on Mifflin Street, set back behind a row of neatly trimmed hedges. She stopped to admire it, curiously scanning the architecture.

A nerdy looking man with askew glasses and a balding head of red hair approached her, his Dalmatian pulling at the leash to greet her first. He himself issued her a cheerful hello.

She smiled back, "Hi."

"Come on Pongo." He was content to press on but his dog was nudging her hands. As he studied her, his smile faltered. "I'm so sorry, but I seem to have misplaced your name. How embarrassing."

Emma cocked her head slightly. _Pongo?_ "I'm new in town."

"Oh, pardon me," he said, elation bubbling out of him. "That certainly makes sense. I'm not used to seeing new faces around Storybrooke. Everyone here knows everyone."

"So I'm beginning to discover. It's okay."

"I'm Archie," he offered her a hand after juggling the leash and an umbrella. "And this is Pongo."

"Emma. Emma Swan."

"Emma," a new voice repeated her, dripping with silky malice. She turned on her heel to find a wrinkled man in his fifties at least, dressed in a full Armani suit with a black cane grinning back at her. "What a lovely name."

"Thanks." This guy gave her the creeps, but as her senses pushed out she felt nothing connecting him to the supernatural she hunted.

Archie, for the record, looked shaken. "I have your rent, back at the office."

"Of course you do," he dismissed the dog walker with a wave of his hand and turned all of his attention to Emma. "New in town?"

"Just passing through."

His grin told her that he was up to nothing good, and that he didn't believe her. "Funny thing about Storybrooke. People never seem to leave. Enjoy your stay."

Emma watched him walk off, a noticeable limp hobbling his otherwise confident swagger. When he was out of earshot, she turned back to Archie. "Who is that?"

"Mr. Gold."

"He's your landlord?"

Archie gulped. "He's everyone's landlord. He owns the town. Better to not cross his path."

As the bewildering man moved off with his dog, Emma called out one last question. "Hey, who lives in the mansion?"

"That one?"

She nodded as he indicated the object of her attention.

"The mayor, Regina. I wouldn't cross her path either."

Emma turned and glanced back up at the sprawling mansion. Being the mayor of Storybrooke certainly paid well. Suddenly, she felt the need to see the dazzling brunette again. Striking up the brick path, she stepped up onto the porch and knocked. After a few moments, she received no answer. Another knock met the same response. The voice in her head reminded her that the woman was probably working. Curiosity got the better of her. She followed the bricks around the side of the house, stopping to check out the Benz in the driveway. It would have been an expensive car twenty five years ago.

_Why was everything in this town as old as she was?_

* * *

The town itself was small and contained; after extricating herself from snooping through the mayor's property it didn't take Emma long to finish a complete circuit. The sun was high, and as she tracked the shadows she figured it was between noon and one. Years of chasing perps in electronically devoid wildernesses had taught her the finer points of hunting. Telling time and direction by the sun and stars was crucial to not getting lost. Leaving a trail indistinct to all but herself insured that she wasn't found. How to tell the age of prints left in mud or snow, which berries were poisonous and which were not, how to build a smokeless fire kept her alive. Things that she would have learned back in her world had it not been taken from her were things she had sought education in during her time in this world. Her supernatural senses highlighted acquired skills that made her job easier. Tracking in the woods took less effort. Nature held onto clues longer than the pavement of the inner city jungle. But people made the same mistakes wherever they went; you just had to know what to look for.

She kept her ears on high alert for strange sounds, but nothing appeared out of the ordinary. No one she passed offered up any particular form of malice outside of her encounter with Mr. Gold. She didn't catch the scent from her room in the hotel. But as she neared the docks, the overwhelming stench of sardines and cod forced her to dampen that sense of smell. It was time to put her eyes and ears to better use. The packing plant at the end of the docks looked abandoned. As she approached, she fingered the knives held in her belt, prepared for an ambush. Yet still she heard nothing but the creaking of rusty beams in cold air. It was a place to check out another day, once she had base knowledge of her new hunting ground mapped in her brain. She climbed down some barnacle crusted steps to walk along the beach, tuned into the rocky outcropping to the north. A place to hide if someone didn't want to be found. She added it to the list of places to search more thoroughly. It was a grey day, the sky streaked with layers of molted clouds. There were no kids out playing in the frothy tide and she had long ago zipped up her red leather jacket against the cold rolling in with the waves. Finally, she set out into the dense forests that seemed to make up much of the town's square acreage. Out there she could breathe again.

She found an old toll bridge that had collapsed some time ago; teenagers had vandalized the sign with paint that was chipping. A river ran beneath it, emptying into the ocean somewhere around the bend. The pines were thick here. Wandering along the river's edge, she quickly ran into steep terrain leading up to daunting cliffs. Backtracking, she found a gentler slope to the cliff edge and stared down into what looked like a quarry. Her eyes flashed inquisitively as she extended her senses to scan the area, but she didn't catch a sign of movement. With a last drifting gaze, she turned to explore the remaining acres. The sun had begun its descent and she wanted to be back in town before it was inappropriately late for tourists. A cottage on the edge of a shimmering lake sat empty and cold, someone's hunting lodge. Assuming she was near the town's limit, Emma heard the deep breathing of a sleeping bear and quickly skirted rocky caves. She felt her eyes adjusting to the fading limit and reluctantly turned back for the town. A familiar scent caught her attention. Whatever had been in her room was with her again.

A deep breath helped her orient and her eyes flicked up to the trees. "Got you."

She saw a pair of yellow eyes gleaming in the foliage, watching her. Adrenaline pumped into her veins as she walked forward, muscles tense as coiled springs ready to propel her. It was curious, the watcher, letting her get close as it tried to estimate a threat. A twig snapped under her foot and she cursed as the eyes turned, it fled back through the trees.

"Oh no you don't."

Underbrush was trampled beneath her feet as she darted after the retreating figure, charging through open areas her prey had to circle to remain in the coverage of the leaves. It noticed her tactics and its lost ground and ducked back into denser trees to elude her. It had made a mistake, a stupid one, letting her get so close. But thick bushes tripped her up; a leaf hidden rock sent her sprawling. With heavy breaths she tried to listen and hear where it had turned, but there was no sound.

Frustration swam to her head and she hoisted herself into the nearest tree, pulling herself higher and higher to find a vantage point. Once there she willed her body to still, pouring energy into her sight as she scanned the trees. After a few moments, that glowing pair of eyes shone back at her. With a snarl, her fingers slid into her belt and one of the knives, edged with the purest silver the San Cristobal mine in Bolivia could produce, sliced through the air. Sensing the attack, her prey turned to dart off but the knife struck and the watcher fell, its curiosity having gotten the better of it.

As it fell, thrown off balance and slipping from its perch, the howls of pain stood the hair on the back of her neck on end. She had heard that sound before, forgotten in a different world. It rumbled through her veins like an earthquake and she shook. Her own cry of shock slipped between teeth that had clenched without her permission and she grabbed her left elbow. Her skin was rolling and a pressure that was dangerously near painful had her ripping off the beloved leather jacket. It fluttered to the ground as she stared down at her arm, shock shutting down her senses. Her mark had turned white. The pressure built to a blinding pain and she reflexively grasped at her skin to ward it off. Just as quickly, it receded. She pried her fingers away from their hold and stared once again at her skin, marred by only black.

"What the hell?" Emma gasped as the pain left the last of her nerves. Her mark had never responded to the call of a vampire. Or to her memories. "Is this – it can't be."

She returned to the forest floor, picking up her jacket and running to where she knew the watcher had fallen. All that remained were scattered broken branches and foliage, an imprint of a humanoid body in the ground. But the scent was gone. And so was the vampire. Her knife was not among the fallen brush.

"Damn it!" she growled. She'd been determined to see more than yellow eyes and shadows. It had made mistakes and she should have caught it easily. But her mark. That howl. A mysterious town in the woods that made her feel like she was home again. There was something more to this strange town than a vampire problem.

* * *

Back in town, she was lost in thought over the watcher in the woods and ran head first into the book reading woman from the diner. "Shit, sorry."

"Oh it's my fault," she, however, looked offended at Emma's language. Both women crouched down to pick up the spilled books. As Emma handed them over, their eyes met and the woman tilted her head as she stared. "Do I know you?"

"No," Emma shook her head.

"You're new here?"

"Everyone's go-to line," she said. "Emma Swan, just passing through."

The woman smiled, extending her hand. "Mary Margaret, school teacher."

They both chuckled. "I saw you, in the diner this morning. You looked pretty into your book," Emma looked down at the novel in her hands. "…Anne Rice?"

"Oh, yeah," Mary Margaret ducked her head to hide the blush, reaching for the book, but Emma was looking it over.

"_Interview with a Vampire_…don't you find these a bit silly? I mean, who actually wants to meet a vampire?"

"I think the idea of them is fascinating, stirring," Mary Margaret said, quietly, offended.

"Don't tell me, you're Team Edward," Emma failed at biting back a jovial laugh. "You know they are monsters right? They kill people."

"I prefer to think of them as a bit misunderstood. They can't help it, they need blood to survive. A few give them all a bad name."

"And psychopaths are?"

"Monsters," Mary Margaret said with certainty. "Who kills people for fun?"

_Oh, I don't know. Vampires?_ But Emma kept the comment to herself. She needed friends here, not enemies. "Do you want to meet one?"

"It would be such an adventure, Emma! You don't understand," their hands were now clasped together and the books lay forgotten. "This town is so boring, nothing ever happens here."

_I'm not so sure about that_. Emma got the distinct impression that given the opportunity to cavort with a vampire, Mary Margaret would turn down the offer with no preamble. She would read of adventures in books and dream about running away to face danger, but dream only. Emma flashed a smile, "Well it was–"

A brisk wind barreled down the empty street. Emma whirled around. _Didn't your sire teach you to stay downwind?_ Her attuned eyes quickly searched the shadows for something that shouldn't be there. This was the watcher's second mistake. _Amateur_. But somehow not, the aloofness alone proved that this was no newborn. Newborns of any species were bloodthirsty, uncontrollable. The babies were all the same. This one was different. Cautious, alert, controlled, but making simple mistakes. If it wasn't more careful, this hunt would be over before it really began.

Mary Margaret was staring at her with wide, questioning eyes. "What is it?"

Emma ignored her, eyes narrowing. A shadow shifted the wrong way when the wind blew. The vibrations of slow breathing beat against her eardrums. She growled low in her throat, a warning. The shadow slunk away.

"Emma, what the hell?" she was being stared down as if she were a rabid dog.

The blonde took her hand soothingly. "Sorry, I thought I saw something. I grew up in the big city, you know. Can't be too careful."

"I assure you, Storybrooke is the safest place on Earth."

Emma shrugged, "Old habits die hard."

Her nervous laughter pacified Mary Margaret. "Well, I think I'm headed to the town meeting."

"I…think I'll go with you," Emma said quietly. Somehow, she knew that the vampire hadn't been after her. It would have learned from earlier and come from downwind. But it was downwind of Mary Margaret. A glance at the other woman had Emma falling into step beside her. It was always the innocent ones.

But Mary Margaret seemed pleased, oblivious to Emma's nerves, linking their arms together. "Everyone will be there, you won't have to answer 'the' question anymore after tonight."

"I guess not," Emma feigned elation. But a jolt of realization that Regina would most certainly be there planted a large smile on her face. Perhaps there was a bright side.

As they walked the street lamps began to light up the sidewalk, the wind tugged at the loose ends of her hair. The reason behind the apparent desertion of the town became obvious when they neared Town Hall. Her new friend was right, everyone was there. Booming with life, the building was the only one lit on the section of street in which it stood. Emma held back, allowing herself to be led in to make sure unwanted attention remained outside. The town council was seated at a long pine table raised on a stage at the front of the grand room. Rows of seats had been erected before it for the citizens of the town to gather into.

Gilded eyes quickly sought out the familiar form of the mayor, poised with royal elegance. She wore a red blazer over a white blouse. Emma sighed; she had a weak spot for power suits. And that hair was perfect, not a strand out of place. Her eyes were distant, surveying the room with passive acceptance of the evening's turn out. The other council members spoke to each other, but Regina remained aloof. Emma wondered why.

When their eyes met, Regina could feel her heated gaze, Emma quickly diverted her attention to an introduction Mary Margaret was trying to make. But not before noting the curious gleam in the mayor's eyes. She made pleasantries with a few more townspeople before being dragged over to a seat. More citizens had filtered in and Emma had not been so caught up that she'd been unobservant. If the watcher in the woods was here, he was adept at camouflage. Ruby hurried to a seat next to Mary Margaret, whispering apologies that she was late.

"I just left five minutes ago, ran all the way," Ruby laughed easily.

It was easily a mile from the diner. "You aren't winded at all."

She flashed Emma a toothy smile, "Great stamina."

"Granny couldn't make it?" Mary Margaret asked her friend.

"Nah, said I need to start doing this stuff, and actually paying attention," Ruby rolled her eyes. "She's trying to turn me into her."

The meeting began and Emma's attention was drawn to Regina's voice, clipped and pragmatic. As the nauseating minutes wore on, she wondered what that voice would sound like in a husked whisper, as a stifled cry.

_Redirect, Swan_, she chided herself. She had a mission to complete. She focused once more on what was being said. But it was quickly apparent that the secrets held did not lie in the confines of the hall, or in the mundane trials of a small town. Nothing unusual was happening, except for the fact that the chipper Mary Margaret was the only one not bored to death. Thankfully, it was over quickly.

"Heading back to the inn, Emma?" Ruby asked as she stood to offer goodbyes to Mary Margaret.

"Most likely."

"Give me a minute, and I'll walk with you."

A curt nod for a response, Emma felt a presence gaining on her back and turned to intercept a haughty looking mayor.

"A tourist at a town meeting?"

"And?"

"Strange," Regina's eyes narrowed.

"According to you, Storybrooke doesn't get many visitors. How would you know what strange tourist behavior was, Madame Mayor?"

"What do you want here?" Regina all but snarled.

Emma contained her grin, getting under this woman's skin was fun. "Perhaps I came to see you."

Regina snorted a laugh.

Emma's hard gaze matched that of the brunette. "What do you have to hide that you're so afraid a lost stranger, invited by one of your constituents to a meeting, may discover?"

"Big words."

"I have a degree in ancient literature. I probably know bigger words than you."

"I very much doubt that, dear. And I have nothing to hide." Regina glowered.

"Except that allusive apple cider you promised me." Emma let a corner of her mouth turn upwards. Ruby tapped her on the shoulder and she turned to follow.

Regina chuckled. "Indeed."


End file.
